


nothing equals the splendor

by jackpack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackpack/pseuds/jackpack
Summary: Ordinary days, mimepires trying to open a portal to hell, a walk through memories, and chance to get Cas back.-15x20 fix it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	nothing equals the splendor

It’s an ordinary day. 

Dean hates it. 

Or, rather- Dean hates that he _doesn’t_ hate it. He wakes up, he feeds the dog, he snags toast as Sam gets back from his run. _Sam goes for a run_ . Their life is so routine now, in a new way, that they _get to have routines_. It’s not getting up in the morning and trying to pry breakfast out of the clenched fist of whatever podunk town they’d settled into, it’s not picking his head up off one of the tabletops of the bunker after passing out there with fifteen folders of research still spread out in front of him.

They did it. They broke out, they’re writing their own story, now. 

Who knew the story would be so goddamn _boring_? 

“You got anything?” 

He almost doesn’t process that Sam’s talking to him, he’s so deep in his own mind. He’s staring intently at his laptop screen, but his mind’s a million miles away, thinking of something, someone, somewhere else, and-

“Dean?” 

He shoves himself back to the moment. “I got something.” 

* * *

They’re at the festival a few hours later. 

He can tell Sam’s disappointed- disappointed? Sam’s _something_ ; definitely not having fun, which was the whole goddamned point of hauling ass all the way out here. Or- no. The point of hauling ass all the way out here was so that they could just be out of the bunker, because they both went stir crazy, and maybe a change of scenery would do something good. The _motivation_ , as most of Dean’s motivations were, was to make sure Sam was at least a _little_ happy. Put on a smiley face, even if he didn’t feel like he could, and put on a clown show for his little brother, who never liked clowns anyway. 

By the time he gets back to their bench with an array of pie that, on any other day, would’ve made him feel like a fucking _king_ , he can tell it’s not working. “What’s wrong?” 

Sam’s frown deepens. Fucking _hell_. “Nothing, I’m fine.” 

“No, come on,” Dean says, because _do you think I’m that stupid, Sammy?_ Like he hadn’t raised the damn kid, like he doesn’t know what his _faces_ mean. “That’s Sad Sam face.” 

Sam, as always, thought he could bluff. “I’m not Sad Sam,” he says, and Dean waits for the other shoe to drop- and, of course, it does. “I’m just… I’m thinking about Cas.” 

Ah. 

There it was. 

Dean has to fight to school his face, and he almost misses when Sam tacks on: “- and Jack, you know? If they could be here.” 

“Yeah.” Dean has to grunt through the word, empty feeling that he’d been _pointedly ignoring_ rending just a tiny bit wider. “Yeah, no, I- think about them, too.” And, he did- does. Every day, every half second, something reminding him _he loved you, he loved you, he loved you, and you lost him_ . He’s not sure if it’s mocking or mourning. Jack, at least- he could hope the kid was in a better place, doing better things. _Knew_ he was, even. With Cas- there wasn’t even a _chance_ of that, and no chance now of ever getting him back. They’d lost all the aces they used to hide up their sleeves. 

“I think about ‘em, too,” he settles on, and then remembers he’s supposed to be the strong one. “But, you know that- pain’s not gonna go away, right? But, if we don’t keep… living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.” _Put on the clown nose_. He shoved a little smile on his face. “So, stop being a friggin’ Eeyore, huh?” 

There’s a beat, where Dean has to wonder if Sam’s gonna take the bait, play into the show, and then a sigh when he finally bites. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Dean’s only got a moment to revel in it before there’s merengue on his face, and he remembers what exactly _playing the clown_ entails. 

* * *

They find a case, after all.

Dean’s happy for the work, but not happy because “the work” always means someone’s dad’s dead, and someone’s mom is traumatized, and someone’s kids are missing, taken by-- 

“Mimes,” he says to Sam, when they get back to the car. 

“Not mimes,” Sam says, but it’s a halfhearted rebuke. He’s flipping through their dad’s journal with that intent look in his eye that tells Dean he’s looking for _something_ , and isn’t gonna stop until he finds it. “I could’ve sworn there was something in here--” 

“I’m telling you: _mimes_ .” Still playing the clown; Dean’s gonna get _something_ out of today. He’s got a stomach full of pie and a whole speech to pretend he’s not rewinding in his head until he passes out tonight, and for once, hunting’s not keeping his mind off of _shit_. “Tongues cut out, those creepy fucking masks-” 

“Got it.” Sam stops flipping, finally, and turns the book towards Dean, and- thank god, before Dean has to try and read John Winchester’s chicken scratch- starts explaining. “He… didn’t have a whole helluva lot, but. Something in here about a doomsday cult?” 

Dean barely resists gritting his teeth. He groans instead. “How many fucking doomsdays to people want? We just _did_ doomsday.” 

“Vampire doomsday coven?” Sam offers, as if that makes the thing better. “It’s a ritual. They drain someone, maim someone, grab two kids, and-”  
  
“Don’t need the and.” Dean cuts him off before he loses his lunch; no matter how long he did the job and learned time and time again that monsters were, usually, _monsters_ , the stuff with kids always turned his guts. “Does it give us any idea where they’re gonna go to pull this shit off?” 

“They've never done it successfully before,” Sam says, right back to book bloodhound mode, nose almost pressed to the paper. God, did the kid need glasses? Were they getting that old? “But- seems like they’re not done collecting kids, either. Usually, they hit three places- Akron, Canton, East Sparta. Usually hit houses that are out of the way, kids five to ten-” 

“Canton next, then,” Dean said, already starting for the driver’s side door. “Who in town fits the bill?” 

Sam knew the routine; he was climbing into the passenger’s side almost before Dean got the question out. “We’ll find out.”

* * *

One fight, one interrogation, and one more drive away, they’re on their way to where the coven was planning on doing the ritual. It was, as it always was, in the middle of nowhere- and, someone _must_ have told the vampmimes- mimepires? Dean would have to workshop it- that they were coming, because getting out of their will all their blood where it’s supposed to be is a pain in the _ass_. They manage to get the kids to run, at least, but they can’tt hack the last head off before-

Before someone opens a goddamned _portal_. 

“Shit.” 

Dean isn’t sure which of them says it first; it’s a mutual _shit_ moment; perhaps an _oh, fuck,_ if they’re being real about it. Leave it to the Winchester boys to stumble onto a portal to Hell just a week after they’ve saved the world, huh? 

Except, this isn’t Hell.

Dean knows Hell; he’s been around enough portals to Hell to know what that feels like, looks like- shit, _smells_ like, by now. No brimstone here, no burning, just- open expanse. A void that Dean knows without having to try it that, if he yelled into it, it would swallow the noise. 

Nothing. Emptiness. 

_Emptiness_.

“Fuck.” It’s definitely Sam that says it, this time, and not Dean, because Dean’s standing stock-still, staring down the blackest black he’d ever seen, darker than the night surrounding it, swallowing all light, and he can’t make himself say _anything._

Emptiness.

“I think they- aimed a little too far down, with that spell,” he finally manages to get out, and it comes with a wheezing laugh he can’t disguise as being on the edge of something. The edge of _everything_. “Went a little outside of your normal nine rings.”

“Dean.” Sam’s to his left, and he can feel him there, but can’t make himself turn to face him. He can’t make himself do anything other than stare down the Empty, and feel the emptiness in his chest rise to meet it. He wants to say it’s calling out, but he figures that the Empty doesn’t call out. It doesn’t do anything other than swallow sound, swallow life, swallow _everything_ , and it’s never full, and Cas is _there_ , and-- “ _Dean_.” 

“Cas is in there.” They haven’t talked about it, since Dean came back alone. He hasn’t told Sam about how Cas got there, about his promise, his _happiest moment_ \- his happiest fucking moment, in just three words that he didn’t even want Dean to say _back_ . Selfless asshole to the end, too much divinity in him to want more for even a moment, and god _damn_ it all, why hadn’t he just-- 

“Dean.” It’s a warning and a question, this time. Sam wants to know what their next move is. Sam wants to know if they’re going to run, if they’re gonna spend the night trying to pull together an answer, if- 

“Cas is _in there_ , Sammy.” Dean can’t think around that, can’t make his train of thought stop at any other station. “We can’t- this could be our only chance to--”

“We don’t know what’s in there.” The voice of reason, Sam always was; a real Debbie Downer, but in the ways that always saved Dean’s ass. This isn’t an admonishment now, though. Dean doesn’t have to look back over his shoulder to know that Sam’s staring right into the slash in the night, too, and watching the darkness suck the world in, even as nothing ripples around it. 

“We know the one thing that matters,” Dean counters. 

He hears Sam sigh, and feels his hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know if we can get out.” Still not telling him to turn back, that this is stupid. 

Dean manages a grin, even if no one can see it. It’s determined, grim, but. It’s something. “When has that ever stopped us?” 

“We’re- gonna need something heavier duty than the machetes.” There’s a finality, there; Sam giving in. An _okay, Dean_ , _I’m with you_ , and even in a moment where there’s no certainty in anything, it sends a flash of it down Dean’s spine. They’re doing this. 

Chuck wasn’t writing the story anymore. Who was there to say what they could and couldn’t do? 

“Grab everything you can,” he says, turning finally to face Sam. “We’re gonna go Rambo in this son of a bitch.”

“Burn the whole place down ‘til we get to him.” The same determined grin is on Sam’s face, his shoulders set against the chill of the night. The sun has long gone down, and that feels more right than anything. 

“You know it.” 

* * *

It’s not hot or cold, in the Empty. It’s not hot, or cold, or dark, or light, or _anything._ When they first pass through, Dean thinks he’s gone blind, but he’s not- he’s not anything. He’s not weighted or weightless, not here or there, not, not, not-

“Dean!” 

Sam’s voice shakes him out of it. He is something- _someone_. He’s Dean Winchester. He’s Dean Winchester, and he’s here, and he’s reaching out, and--

His hand finds Sam’s elbow, and he _yanks_ , and the emptiness shifts around him. _Things aren’t meant to be where there’s nothing._ But this is where everything came from, so there’s got to be--

They’re somewhere again. 

One more time, Dean thinks he’s gone blind, but- no. It’s just dark. It’s dark, and musty, and- 

_JesusfuckingChrist_ , there’s _dirt_ in his mouth. 

He’s done this before. 

It’s a shallow grave- thank fucking _god_ , it’s a shallow grave, and he can push his hand up and feel sunlight on him, and- 

And, there’s a hand in his, pulling him up. 

For the second time in twelve years, Dean Winchester is crawling out of his own grave- only, this time, Sam’s _there_ , and sure as hell not looking any younger. He doesn’t have to look around too much to know where he is, though: it’s the same grave, he knows. The same everything. 

“Where the hell are we?” Sam asks.

“Back at the- not the beginning, I guess,” Dean says, trying to spit the taste of earth from his mouth and not succeeding. “But- close. We’re looking for Cas, and this is-” He gestures at the empty highway, not so far out of sight. “This is… the first time I was doing that.” 

Sam doesn’t look satisfied with that answer- but, he almost never is. Sam likes _real_ answers, clues he can put together and things he can hold onto. Facts. It’s why Dean knows that, in another life, one where Dean hadn’t rolled up and knocked the opportunity out of his hands, he would’ve made a damned good lawyer. “Alright,” he says anyway. “What’s the next step?” 

“We… go find a gas station, I think.” It _was_ over a decade ago, so it’s not like Dean remembers every step of the journey. That- feels right, though, about as right as anything. This expanse, he knows, is a memory- humans weren’t meant to fall into the empty, so this is a safety net. A lobby, keeping the public out of the guts of the building. 

Hopefully, somewhere in here, they can find an employees only door. Cas isn’t just gonna be waiting for them at the front desk. 

It’s a long walk to the fill up station, and it’s just like Dean remembers. He has to break the door to get in, but once he’s in it’s a rush of cool air, and- 

Radio static. 

It’s faint, but his ear picks it up, and it makes his head snap towards the sound in a second like a dog on a scent. It sounds, for a moment, just like radio static would, like he was catching channels going through a town, but after his mind adjusted to the noise, he heard it. 

_Dean_. 

It’s clipped, cut off, a little pitchy- but, it’s _his name_ , and it’s _Cas’ voice_. It has to be. Sam seems to catch it too, and he opens his mouth to ask something, but Dean holds up a hand to stop him, and just pumps the volume instead. 

_“Dean_.” 

It’s clearer, now, blasting from the speakers so it’s easier to pick up. His name, and then a few more moments of static before it’s repeated, a steady pattern, like a heartbeat. _Dean, Dean, Dean--_

“Cas?” Dean has to choke out the word, because suddenly, he can’t _breathe._ The last time he heard his name like that, it was tacked onto a goodbye, the last word Castiel had ever spoken before the Empty ripped him away. 

“ _Dean_ .” Dean thinks he’s imagining it for a moment, that the space between the words gets shorter- a heartbeat picking up pace. “ _Dean, Dean, Dean-”_

“Can you hear us?” Sam cuts in, and thank god he does, because Dean thinks that if he has to try and speak right now, he’s going to break down, or pass out, or throw up, or _something_ . “Cas, it’s- can you hear us?”  
  


“ _Sam? Dean- Sam, Dean, Dean, Dean, Sam-”_

“I don’t think he’s gonna- be able to answer us, Sammy.” Dean’s hands are curled into tight fists, fingernails biting into flesh, grounding him, somewhat. 

“But, he knows we’re here,” Sam counters. “He knows we’re here- _Cas_ , man, we’re here, we’re gonna get you outta here. Tell us how to--” 

“ _Dean, Sam, Sam, Dean, Dean, Dean-”_ The names are almost bleeding into each other now, they’re coming so fast, and if they’re a heartbeat, Castiel’s about to have a goddamned heart attack. “ _Dean, Dean, Sam, follow--”_

“Follow?” Sam echoes. “Follow what, Cas, follow what?” 

“ _Dean.”_ It’s the last intelligible word before the tone turns back to static, and from static into a high pitched whine that sends both Sam and Dean covering their ears and ducking for cover as the windows in the gas station shatter. 

It’s like a bomb went off, in the aftermath, but- it’s familiar, and it’s a better sign than Dean thought they’d get. _Follow Dean_. It’s a pretty clear path, then. 

“Seems like you’re driving this one,” Sam says, getting up and brushing glass from his clothes. “Where to next?” 

Dean spots an old car across the street that _definitely_ wasn’t there a few moments ago. 

“We’re taking a trip home, I think.” 

* * *

It takes less time than it should to get to Bobby’s. Predictably, he’s not there; there hadn’t been anyone else there; not on the road, not in the town. It’s as reassuring as it is creepy. Dean’s not sure he could deal with another Jiminy Cricket telling him how bad of an idea this all is. Good or bad doesn’t matter; it’s _Cas,_ and he’s not leaving him behind. Not again. 

“Cool trip down memory lane we’re going on,” Sam says as they push through the unlocked door, seemingly just as happy as Dean is to be here. “Do we have to go through _every_ stop?” 

“Dunno,” Dean says. There doesn’t seem to be anything _here_ for them, at first glance- but, of course, there’s something. There’s chalk, sitting out on a side table, next to a picture that shouldn’t be there quite yet.

_Team Free Will-_ him, and Bobby, and Sam, and Cas, and Jo and Ellen. The hole in Dean’s chest _aches_. He pockets it with the chalk, and hears static start up again. It’s the same heartbeat as earlier, and he stops Sam before he cranks it. 

“Back to the car,” he says, because he can’t deal with hearing all that again, now. Cas, calling out- pleading with them, with _him_ in a harried heartbeat. “I- we’re going to you, next.” 

Sam wrinkles his nose. “I’m here, though. Doesn’t that- kinda defeat the purpose?” 

Dean shrugs. “It’s where I went. And I don’t… I don’t think it’s gonna let us skip steps, here.” 

He still doesn’t look happy about it, but Sam at least nods. “Right. To me, then.” He takes a beat while they make it to the car before he says, “I… don’t know where I was. Not the city, anyway.” 

“I don’t think it matters,” Dean says as the car’s engine sputters to life. “I think we’ve just gotta drive.” 

* * *

Dean _knows_ that it should’ve taken longer to get to the shitty little motel where Sam had been, but he also doesn’t care. He doesn’t know if they’re on a timetable or what, but, the sooner they get to the grand finale of all this, the better. 

They push through the building until they find an unlocked door, and the familiar, ugly wallpaper tells Dean that _this is the place._

That, and the things on the desk. 

It’s the amulet- and, _thank god,_ the keys to the Impala. Dean pockets them both, and waits just a moment. 

The TV flicks on. Static.

_“Dean. Sam. Dean. Dean.”_

The pace has calmed, since the gas station, and that makes him let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Hey, Cas,” he managed, sliding a hand across the dusty top of the old TV. “We’re coming for you. Don’t worry.”  
  


_“Dean. Dean. Dean.”_

He has to fight to pull himself away, this time, remind himself that they’re _almost there, almost there_. Just a few more stops before this all ends where he knows it will. How he hopes it will. 

“Hold tight,” he mumbles, and tries to ignore the look in Sam’s eye when he turns back around. “It’s, ah- Pamela, next. Her place.” 

“Gonna be a pretty pathetic seance,” Sam says, and Dean snorts, nuding him as they head back out to the parking lot. The old car’s gone, and Baby sits in her rightful place. 

“Don’t think you can hack it? Come on, Sam, we’ve done fuckier magic.” Dean’s almost smiling, until he slides into the front seat of the Impala and remembers why he hadn’t been so happy the first time. “God. You got to douche her up, even in my memory, huh?” 

“Fuck off,” Sam says, but there’s a laugh behind it. Relief. He knows they’re getting close, too, Dean knows. They’re both getting hopeful.

Gotta take that down a peg. Good things usually don’t come of Dean Winchester getting hopeful. 

He tears the dock out, just like he did last time, shoves a tape in, and cranks it til Bon Jovi rips through the speakers. 

“You didn’t do this last time,” Sam calls over the music as he starts to peel out of the parking lot. 

“This isn't last time,” is the only reply Dean gives him before he pumps the music so loud that Sam couldn’t have replied if he wanted to, and zeroes in on the road. 

* * *

Pamela’s door is open and, predictably, there’s no sign of her. It doesn’t phase Dean in the slightest; he’s happy to not have to go through that horror show again. There’s a light on for them, and it leads them back to that table. There’s only two chairs there, now, sitting across from one another, and it only takes them one shared look- an “ _are you sure about this?” / “do we have any other choice?”_ \- before they sit down, and take each other’s hands. 

“I, uh-” Dean has to suck in a breath before he can get the words out with the commanding air they need. “I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle, I- _goddamnit,_ Cas, I invoke, conjure, and command you-” 

The television flickers on. Static. 

“Appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you-”

“Dean.” 

It’s not coming from the television, this time. Dean has to fight to not break focus and open his eyes to snap his head around. 

“Cas.” 

“You remember what happened to the last person that tried this, yes?” There’s a fondness to Cas’ tone, and a sadness- a warning, almost. “I don’t- it’s not worth it.” 

Dean laughs. “You’re shitting me.” 

“When have I ever ‘been shitting you,’ Dean,” Cas says, and it’s so _familiar,_ achingly _Cas_ that Dean almost turns that laugh into a sob. He bites his tongue. “Turn back.”

Dean has to fight to get the words out, but they come to him easy- just what Pamela said, with a grin. “Sorry, Castiel. I don’t scare easily.” 

He doesn’t even have to finish the invocation; the static on the television reaches a peak, and Dean hears something pop and shatter above them and everywhere around them. He opens his eyes, and momentarily panics, because of the three times he thought he was going blind today, now would sure as hell be the time- but, he blinks once, then twice, and he can still see the shape of Sam in front of him. 

“What’d he say?” he asks, and Dean just shakes his head. 

“Wants us to turn back,” he says. “Fat chance.”

Sam snorts, and Dean doesn’t have to squint through the dark room to know exactly what smile he’s got on his face. “He should really know better by now, huh?” 

“C’mon,” Dean says, shaking glass off of himself once again. “I think we’ve got one more stop.” 

* * *

They did not, in fact, have one more stop.

Instead of the old barn unfolding in front of them, when there are finally buildings in sight, it’s another shitty motel- and, god, they really weren’t going to get to skip any steps, were they? It almost makes him _angry_ , because what the _hell_ could be waiting for them here that was so important when Cas was just one stop away? 

He pulls in and stops anyway, almost despite himself. He wants to keep driving, but isn’t sure if there’ll even be road to greet him. He’s not sure if the Empty plans that far ahead. 

“What’s here?” Sam seems confused, too, when Dean parks in the empty lot and gets out, even as he’s following him up through the motel doors. 

“A room,” Dean says. “I don’t… know what else. We just… we waited here, before going. Or- I did. Took a nap, while you went out.” 

They find the door to the room open, just like they did the last one, and Dean pushes inside. “Should I… go, then?” Sam asks. 

“I’m not letting you wander off in here,” Dean says, immediately. 

Sam shakes his head. “But, I wasn’t with you when you met him, last time,” he says. “I was… at the diner, right? So, if you’re retracing your steps-” 

“I’m _not letting you wander off_ into the _Empty_ , Sam,” Dean says again, this time through gritted teeth. He flops down onto one of the beds. It’s just as uncomfortable as his hazy memory told him it would be. “Just- sit down, and we’ll… wait.” 

“Wait for _what_?” Sam seems just as frustrated as he is, but Dean doesn’t know how to answer him, so he doesn’t. Instead, he just shifts onto his side, turns his back to Sam, and closes his eyes. 

Eventually, he hears the sound of a mattress shifting, and Sam heaving a sigh as he settles. They’re silent, after that, and there’s a tension hanging like there usually only is when there’s something they really, _really_ need to talk about. 

“I’m the reason he’s gone,” Dean says. 

The words fill the room and hang in the air for a long, long moment before Sam replies. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, he- had the chance to save me, when Billie came after us.” Dean can’t make himself turn over and face Sam, can’t even make himself open his eyes and at least face the shadows on the wall. “He’d… made some deal, that- whenever he was… whenever he had his happiest moment, he’d- the Empty would come for him.” 

“ _That_ was his happiest moment?” Dean could hear the way that Sam’s face was crinkling, trying to put the pieces together. 

“Not- no,” Dean said, a humorless laugh on the last word. “No. His happiest moment was telling me he fucking loved me.” 

“ _Oh_ .” Sam sounds surprised, which is par for the course, but he follows it up with- “Christ, _that’s_ why he’d never said it?” 

It’s like a record scratching in a movie. Dean’s entire body freezes. “The fuck do you mean ‘that’s why?’ He- did you-” 

“I thought it was just the both of you being stupid,” Sam went on, as if Dean hadn’t piped up in the first place. Dean can hear his mattress shifting again, Sam getting up to start pacing. “Thinking that neither of you felt the same way, you know? That you’d, like- figure it out if you had enough space to breathe, really focus on it. But it was- _god_ , Dean. He just- said he loved you, and it-” 

“Took him.” Dean’s chest feels painfully constricted, like he can’t breathe. “It- he did this whole speech, and told me how he- how I was the best person he’d ever known, and how he- Jesus fucking Christ, Sam, you _knew_?” 

“You think you’re the only one of us that can read the other, Dean?” Sam snorts, and stops, just at the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean still can’t face him. “I know you. I know what you look like when you love someone, and I… it wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together, that Cas loved you just as much.” 

“He let himself go to _hell_ for me, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is raw when he speaks; he can’t help it, can’t hold back. “The fuck am I meant to do with that? How the hell am I ever meant to-” 

“Cut the shit.” Sam’s voice is stern, and Dean almost _laughs_ , like he almost does every time Sam pulls it. His little brother, trying to pull some kind of authoritative tone with him. “It’s not- you’re never gonna be able to pay someone back all the things you think you owe them for loving you, Dean. You- god. You don’t expect _me_ to pay back all the times you- gave things up for me, all the times you-” 

“Never.” Dean doesn’t even have to let Sam finish. Of _course_ he’d never think to ask him to pay anything back; he was his brother. “But that’s-” 

“Do you want Cas to pay you back for you loving _him_ ?” Sam pushes on, and Dean can feel his eyes boring holes into his back. “Do you think he has to- work for it, earn it, do something to-”  
  


“ _No_ ,” Dean says, and he spits the word, both because it’s meant to mean _of fucking course not, Sam, and you know it_ , and because the idea of making Cas fight for his love was _absurd_ , because he already had it. 

“Then, what makes you so different?” Sam says, and cuts him off before he can get the words out of his mouth. “And, give me a reason that isn’t you thinking you’re _less_ , Dean, or that you don’t _deserve_ him. You deserve good things, idiot. We all do, we’ve- worked our asses off for it, for _each other_ . You love him, and he loves you, and you _deserve that_.” 

“When the hell did you become some kind of love expert,” is all Dean can muster in reply, muttered under his breath, petulant. Not even telling Sam he’s _wrong_ , even if the instinct was there, because- well. Believing that was nice. Believing that he deserved Castiel, that all the things he’d said before going about Dean being more than what he thought of himself, about being _good_ \- it was _nice_ , and it was something to hold onto right now. 

“I think we both need to get some rest,” Sam said in lieu of an answer, and he’s probably right; Dean’s exhausted, and if Sam hadn’t been before, his little motivational speaking stint seems to have taken it out of him. “We’ll… hopefully, we’ll know what the hell we’re waiting for in the morning.”

“If there’s even a morning here,” Dean snorts, but he tucks the underfilled pillow more securely under his head, and feels some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “Night, Sammy.” 

“Night, Dean.” 

Neither of them nod off quickly; Dean can tell from the way Sam’s breathing doesn’t even out in the way it normally would, and he listens until it does, and then it’s just him and his thoughts. 

He can’t help himself from climbing out of bed, and kneeling by the end. His hands clasp, and his head bows, and he’s mumbling to himself almost before he’s thinking of the words. 

“Dear Cas,” he starts, just like he always did; it’d been a long time since he’d prayed to him- for him- but, this whole thing seemed to be about the old. “I don’t- know if you can hear me, and I… don’t think you’d be able to tell me, even if you did, but… if you’re listening, I just-” He inhales shakily, and has to fight down the urge to stop here. “I want you to know that I- that I feel- fuck _me_ , no wonder you waaited til the last second to try this. Harder than I thought it’d be,” he says, with a bit of humor. It’s not. It’s just as hard as he always knew it’d be. “We... we’ll talk about it when I’ve got you back, alright, but… I need you to know that you’re… this- this is least of what I’d do for you, you know? Go to hell and back. I’ll do it as many times as I’ve got to, because I- you made me better, too, you know? I was- I don’t think I’ll ever be _sure_ I’m everything you think I am, but. I can damn well try.” 

He tries to think of something else to say, something better, bigger- but, the words either die on the tip of his tongue or won’t leave the shadowy areas of his mind, so he just huffs frustrated “Amen,” and climbs back into bed. It’s no more comfortable, but, he’s able to settle, and drift off after a few long minutes of listening to Sam’s half-snoring. 

When he wakes up, Sam is gone. 

He panics for a moment, before he sees the note on the nightstand: _Went to go check out the diner. Sorry. See you when it’s over_. He curses to no one in particular before his ear catches static, and he only has the barest moment to hit the deck before all the glass in the room explodes. 

_Right, then. That’s the motel done._

He stands, brushes himself off- god, he’s getting fucking _sick_ of brushing glass out of his hair- and snags the keys to the Impala off the nightstand. Only one stop left- really, this time. 

He just had to hope Cas would come, when he called. 

* * *

It takes Dean longer than it should to draw the circles. 

He’s almost done when he realizes that he shouldn’t be drawing angel summoning sigils: they didn’t _know_ they were looking for an angel, at the time, and he curses, and starts kicking at the chalk with his boot. _Stupid_. He wasn’t sure how accurate everything had to be to last time to count, but he wasn’t taking any chances. 

He draws the circle, and he waits. 

Even knowing that he and Bobby had had to wait for a long while in the first place, it feels excruciatingly long before he starts to hear the wind pick up- and, Dean’s on his feet the moment he hears it, now, waiting. 

The door bursts open. 

Dean feels like he’s doing to pass out. 

He’s frozen to the spot as Castiel walks in, same as the first day he saw him, sparks flying as the lights above him pop and shatter. 

“Dean,” he says, and it’s even, toneless- but, it’s forced. Like he’s fighting to keep it that way.

Dean _grins_. “There you are. Been looking for you.” 

“Don’t… take this the wrong way,” Cas says, and the veneer breaks, a bit of nervousness slipping through. “But, I didn’t think you would.” 

“You’re kidding,” Dean says, like it’s easy, a laugh in his voice as he reaches out. “You grip me tight, and you think I’m not gonna return the favor? Come on now, Cas, you know always give back.” 

That seems to break something, and Castiel’s _smiling_ and _laughing_ , and it’s the best thing Dean’s ever heard, and it’s the natural next step- of course, of course- to open his arms and close the gap between them, pulling Cas into a tight embrace, and--

There’s nothing, again.

Nothing, again, capital-E, _Empty_ , and Dean panics for a second, thinking _this is it, this is it, they let me get so fucking far and I_ lost _him again, and I_ \-- 

“Dean!” 

There’s a hand in his, and a pinprick of light behind him- and it’s _Cas_ , and something else, and it feels like Cas it falling one way, but it’s the _wrong way_ , not towards the light, and-

“Don’t let go,” he grits out, reaching and finding purchase on Cas’ shoulder with his other hand, holding on tight. “Don’t let go, Cas, I’ve got you. I’ve got you we’re getting out of here.”

Dean doesn’t look back, after that, and just _heaves_ . It’s like he’s dragging a rock, but he can _hear_ Cas behind him, can feel his hand in his, holding tighter every time it seems like he’s slipping and it’s just a few more steps, just a few more steps, _just a few more steps, Cas, come on, and-_

They fall into the moonlit woods, still littered with the cooling bodies of those stupid fucking vampires, hand in hand. “ _Fuck_.”

“Dean!” 

It’s Sam’s voice- thank fucking god, it’s Sam’s voice- and he’s moving to his side just as Dean’s sitting up. “I- god, it just popped me out after I got to the diner, I didn’t- are you- oh, god, _Cas._ ”

That gets Dean’s head to snap to the other side, now- god, he’s gonna give himself whiplash- and he’s right back to feeling like he’s going to pass out when he sees Cas stumbling to his feet next to him. Sam helps the both of them up, and immediately pulls Cas into a hug of his own. “Good to have you back, man.”

“Good to be back,” Cas says, muffled in Sam’s chest, because the kid knows how to fucking _hug_. Dean wonders, sometimes, who taught him that. He looks like he’s holding back tears, when Sam finally pulls away, and pats him on the shoulder, and he turns to Dean.

No one says anything for a long, long moment. 

“I know you two have- unfinished business,” Sam says, which, yeah. That sounds about right for the moment. “But can it… wait until a little clean up? Just a little,” he’s sure to tack on. “Not another, like, ten years of it. I don’t think anyone here can handle that. Just- got some burning to do.” 

“Of course,” Cas says, a bit stilted. He clears his throat, and squares up his shoulders in a move Dean’s come to realize as him dropping that mask back on. Suddenly, he hates it. “We can… wait.” 

“Just ‘til we get back to the bunker,” Dean says quickly, because he already feels like he’s about to burst, but he also knows he’s gonna be _humiliated_ if he has to try and wring out this confession in front of Sam _and_ Cas. “Better to put some distance between us and-” 

“Are these… clowns?” Castiel seems to have caught onto the carnage around them, nose wrinkling. It’s endearing. Dean can admit that to himself, now- holy shit. It’s _endearing_. 

“Yes,” Sam says, at the same time Dean says, “Mimepires.” 

Castiel just heaves a long suffering sigh, though he caps it with a smile. “I see. You can… explain on the drive home.” 

It’s the quickest they’ve ever cleaned up.

* * *

Dean doesn’t just sweep Cas off to talk as soon as they get back to the bunker. Not that he doesn’t _want_ to; there’s a very large part of him that does, and he just barely fights it off by looking at the exhaustion on Cas’ face, in his frame, and reminding himself that angels might not sleep, but Cas had literally just been through hell and back, and a little bit of a breather is in order. 

Cas seems to see the same in the way that Dean’s carrying himself, and it only takes a look and a tacit _see you tomorrow_ before they’re off in separate rooms, and even Dean’s racing thoughts can’t save him from passing out nearly the moment his head hits the pillow. 

The alarm clock rings. 

Dean almost doesn’t get up, because he literally went through the tenth circle of hell yesterday, and he deserves a lie-in but, he rolls to his feet anyway, and starts going through the routine. Feed the dog, make the bed, grab breakfast-

Cas is standing at the kitchen counter. 

Relief and surprise and _joy_ fill Dean’s chest in short order, and he has to pull himself together for a moment before he can get himself moving again. 

“Morning, Cas,” he gets out, casual as he can manage, moving over to his normal place at the counter. It’s- close, closer that he’d let himself get in a long time, shoulder to shoulder if he were to turn his body the right way.

“Good morning, Dean.” There’s a caution to it, a tension Dean’s not used to, but he knows what it means. Cas it waiting for a reaction he never thought he’d get; he’d thought he was going to get away without ever hearing Dean return his feelings- or, from the way he made it sound, rebuff them. That makes the Dean’s chest ache again, just like it had in the empty, and he can’t stand it for another second longer. He’s _angry_ suddenly- angry that Cas thought he didn’t at _least_ deserve for his happiest moment to be a return, angry that he was just going to _leave_ without giving Dean a chance. 

“You think if you have another happy moment, the Empty’s gonna try and take you back?” Baby steps. He asks it without looking, fiddling with the lever on the side of the toaster. 

“I… no, I don’t think so.” The hope in Castiel’s voice makes Dean’s chest ache in a whole new way, and the anger dissipates just as soon as it got there- or, rather, turns into something else entirely. Determination. 

“Good.” Dean straightens up and turns so he’s looking Cas in the eyes, reaching a hand out that hovers for a moment before dropping to his side. “I- god, okay. I didn’t really- plan a speech as good as yours, so you’re gonna just have to let me get through it.” 

“You don’t have to-” Dean stops Cas before he can finish. 

“I know. I know you said that it’s… that your happiest moment was just getting to say it,” he said. “And, honestly, Cas, that’s… that’s sweet, but I also think it’s bullshit. I think you’re selling yourself short of getting to be _really_ happy, because you think there’s no way in hell I’d ever say it back, and I… I think that’s bullshit, too.” 

“You’re selfless.” Dean feels like he should be pacing for this, but he makes himself hold still, look Cas in the eye as he says it. It’s the least he can do, since Cas had done the same for him. “You’re stupid selfless; you’ve given up so much for me- for Sam, and for everyone, time and time again. I can’t count how many times you’ve saved my ass, how many times you’ve… made me want to do better, want to _be_ better, and I honest to god don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Technically, in hell,” Castiel says, practical as always. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “What did I say about letting me get through this? I meant, like, spiritually.” 

Castiel hums. “Your spirit would be in hell.” 

“Damnit, Cas-” Dean’s never been a speech guy anyway, so all it takes is two seconds of _fuck this_ before he’s reaching out and pulling Cas into a kiss instead. It’s not graceful, or even really _good_ , but it’s the best damn kiss Dean has ever had in his life, soaring over everyone else by the sheer fact that it’s finally, _finally_ Castiel. 

“I love you,” he says when he pulls back, and the words come easier than he thought they would. “I love you, too, is what I mean.” 

“Oh.” Cas sounds shell shocked, punchdrunk, like Dean’s just handed him the secrets of the universe. 

“I’ll say it as many times as it takes you to believe it,” Dean says, and he doesn’t get anything out beyond that before _Cas_ is kissing _him_ , and everything else is forgotten. 

“I believe it now,” Cas says, after a second, much better coordinated round of kissing. 

Dean can’t fight a smile so wide it hurts his face. “I’ll keep saying it anyway.” 

“I’m coming into the kitchen,” comes Sam’s voice from the entryway, and it makes both of them jump. “So, if you’re making out in the kitchen, don’t be.” 

Despite Dean’s better judgement, they _don’t_ start kissing again just to spite him- and, the day is almost weirdly normal, from there. Breakfast. Research. Fucking around playing keep away with the book Sam needs in the library- except, now, _Cas_ is here, and every so often Dean will remember he can reach out and hold his hand, or throw an arm around his waist, or drop a kiss to his forehead when he walks past, and that _keeps happening_ , for days, and weeks, and hunt after hunt, and-- 

It’s an ordinary life.

Dean loves it. 

**Author's Note:**

> yes i'm writing destiel in 2020 after having not seen an episode in half a decade. what about it? 
> 
> find me on tumblr @scootbian.


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